Ashes Like Snowfall
by Ratt9
Summary: The rain tastes of the sky, and the sky tastes of blood. The bones only speak when it rains, and only when the rain falls does the boy visit an unmarked grave. Light visiting L's grave, from the perspective of L's headstone. A bit abstract.


_"It rises from the dim, far distant plain toward the sky, as if by an old birthright." _

* * *

><p>I am a headstone, bare amongst the rows of bones that rest in this field of the dead. Being unmarked as I am, there is no way for me to know the name of the former human resting beneath me. Although I am deeply curious about both the corpse's name as well as to why the name has been made to die with it, I know that it is perhaps for the best—it is blasphemy to speak the names of the dead, so never knowing the word at all is, I suppose, fitting.<p>

* * *

><p>The death ceremony for my decaying human was fairly short,<p>

_(_fairly formal_)_.

Eyes were dry, and words—stiffly spoken; the deceased was not a family member but a business colleague, or something of that nature. In the procession of the ceremony, only the youngest remained at the site.

The inferiority of his age was obvious, but his madness was most clear. Once he had seen to it that those formerly in his company had gone, he threw himself to his hands and knees, suffocating the fresh dirt with his fingers. He laughed, and his eyes screamed insanity.

_(_And I, helpless_)_.

* * *

><p><em>the moths whisper<em>

_and my life is now made up _

_of seconds_

_the pendulum swings_

_becoming three shades of white_

_there's a ladder at the edge of the world_

_suspended_

_sometimes i wonder what_

_happens between the_

_silences_

_the sound of footsteps die_

_like everything_

_but death_

_a shallow breath is drawn_

_white noise_

_time passes_

_like an antique paper weight _

_and_

_it will show you hidden realities_

_the dark doves fly_

_and then they scatter_

_in the wild quiet_

_is our last salvage of sympathy_

_embers dance and fade_

_bright in the sky_

_in the end it didn't_

_the thistle butterfly_

_the flowers are the sound of silence_

_the flowers are the sound_

_the flowers are_

_the flowers are_

_the flowers_

Rain falls.

* * *

><p>The body is long decayed, with nothing left of it but bones, and only when the world is silent but for the falling rain do we become aware once again of time's hollow passage.<p>

The rain tastes of the sky, and the sky tastes of bloodshed. I ask why the world must be painted red before the ranting pendulum will slow and paint clarity over fragmented eyes, but the electric sky flashes as though the gods themselves were once again at war and the bones remain silent because we are not alone.

There stands the boy, but his madness is less prominent in his eyes—they appear now to be dulled, as if he has been crazed for so long now that it has been etched into his irises, ever-present and tainting his vision. He sounds like fury but looks and feels of fear. He shouts at the bones, and the bones listen because they have always listened, but now they must hear his words in silence.

I know that the bones are curious, though, because the boy holds in his hand a flower.

The bones grant me brief awareness. This boy has brought death upon many.

He puts down the single red flower, petals trembling softly, and leaves.

* * *

><p><em>the world turns to<em>

_chalk dust at your_

_fingertips_

_it's the last tree in the forest_

_the world needs_

_a cradle of beliefs_

_and_

_an inch of scorn_

_to write with chalk_

_on paper_

_we all fall but_

_maybe death wants to die_

_too_

_falls an avalanche of words_

_tadpoles become_

_birds fly like watercolours_

_in the sky there are angels _

_bringing death_

_and the overdrawn flowers still remain_

_the overdrawn flowers remain_

_they still remain_

_they shouldn't still rem_

Light spills from an underground window, its mind lost in all that is pas**_t_**.

* * *

><p>The bones speak, breaking their long, silent years of going without. Its words are silent dust in a world buried under sand, and I see a broken watch, a bloody dress, an antique teacup. More pronounced than the rest is an ancient notebook, tattered with age. The objects seem to hold some importance, but somehow, I no longer can remember why.<p>

I realize that they were likely never meant for me to begin with. Nothing truly is meant for me; I am nothing but an unmarked headstone resting atop bones without a name.

I am not even meant to be with the bones, yet here I remain.

The flower is still inexplicably resting upon the ground, dried and dead.

_(_Though it is probably nothing but a passing illusion._)_

The bones tell me that the boy who set it down no longer belongs to the earth, but instead to a world that used to be but no longer is.

In the end, it fails to matter. None of it matters.

The bones speak of a time when there was only rain on a tin roof. Maybe that's still all there is, just rain falling on a tin roof.

But not even the rain falling in torrents from the ruined, paper sky will save the flowers.

* * *

><p><span>Well, this turned out much differently than I thought it would. I kind of like it.<span>

So, there was some heavy symbolism in this (as well as some things that don't really mean anything at all), so here's an explanation to anyone who doesn't understand what the hell they just read: Basically, it starts out around the time of L's funeral, and then describes Light laughing on L's grave. Once L's body decays completely, time is perceived (by the headstone and by L's bones) to have disappeared, so everything seems to happen in fragments and pieces (thus, the random italics). But, time seems to move normally again when it rains. The headstone is capable of speaking with L's bones, and L's bones can communicate with the headstone through sending weird sorts of images and memories; L's bones, however, remain essentially silent until Light is dead. In this, I imagine that when Light visits L's grave with the flower, it's around the time when Near has just made one of his first appearances. Light is frustrated (for the reason that either he does not deem Near to be a worthy opponent, and/or that he hates that L is still hindering his progress after he's already in the grave), and yells words of hatred at L's grave. But, for reasons unknown, the headstone seems to think that he feels slightly scared (it is up to the reader to decide whether the headstone's judgement was accurate or not). Light probably left the flower on L's grave out of a sense of respect. The very last bit takes place years after Light is dead, and finally L's bones speak to the headstone.

Make what you want of it—the entirety of its meaning is completely up to you.

I would REALLY love some feedback on this! Please tell me what you think of it, and I hope you enjoyed.

Thank you for reading!

~Ratt Kazamata, 1-19-2012


End file.
